


protège moi

by Psuedorabbit



Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, daddy dating sim, damien bloodmarch - Freeform, ddaddy, ddads, dream daddy - Freeform, dream daddy: a dad dating simulator - Freeform, drug mention, ernest is insensitive and it pushes lucien over the edge, ernest trying to make up for it, ernest vega - Freeform, hugo vega - Freeform, lucien bloodmarch - Freeform, lucien talks about his main issues, soon to be platonic boyfriends, theyre the ultimate bromance, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-16 20:22:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11836353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Psuedorabbit/pseuds/Psuedorabbit
Summary: ((update: new chapter)) Lucien is hurt by some things Ernest says about his depression, and has an anxiety attack, turning to his prescriptions. Ernest swings by and they're at each others throats for a while





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> self projecting angst based on real feelings of mine and this is purely self indulgent

The bedroom door slammed shut with a quaking vibration that rattled the bookshelf positioned against the wall. Lucien’s back to the door, cold hands clapped onto overheated, burning eyes as a ragged breath drew into his lungs. As he sunk to the floor, he became well aware of the stabbing pain in his solar plexus. It made him wheeze when he drew in breaths. Breaths that grew quicker and shallower with each passing second. Eyeliner and mascara blurred and smudged together, clumping and unnecessarily making the hellfire in the goth’s eyes much more insufferable.

_ Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you! _

A sob tears through Lucien’s throat with enough force to make his shoulder blades bang into the door, a pleasant wave of pain overriding the nausea in his stomach and the coldness in his hands. It was sweltering outside but he couldn’t feel it. He couldn’t feel it the moment he ditched school. Ernest kept flashing through his mind, and it didn’t matter how tightly he squeezed his eyes shut. Cosmic dust painted his vision when his eyes couldn’t shut anymore and that’s when he started to hear Ernest’s voice as loudly and plainly as it was initially delivered just an hour ago.

_ “You’re always feeling sorry for yourself. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say your depression is a way of punishing me.” _

Lucien removed his hands from his face, sliding them up and into his hair, a vice grip on the soft silver tresses.  _ Fuck you, you don’t know anything, you don’t know what it’s like.  _ In a blur of movement, his hands go flying backwards in white-knuckled fists to bang at the door. There’s no pain until he unclenches his hands. His bookbag is on the floor next to him, and there’s no time wasted when he rifles through it.  _ Meds, meds, where the fuck did I put them?  _ The bright orange bottle is found underneath his packet of Yellow American Spirits, and only when the pills are tumbling into his hand does he notice how horribly they’re shaking.

_ “Xanax? Are you sure that this will be okay for him to take?” _

_ “Mr. Bloodmarch, your son hasn’t had a past of drug abuse. Or depression. I don’t see this to be a wrong decision, should he be responsible.” The doctor had spoke. That was last year. Lucien didn’t really know what depression was, but he knew that he would get anxious. A lot. The doctor didn’t delve too deep on Lucien’s emotions, only asking him the bare minimum of questions to get him out of his clinic. His scratchy handwriting scrawling out  _ ‘alprazolam’  _ almost illegibly. _

He swallows four bars dry. He doesn’t care, he’s done worse. The back of his head falls back into the door and his throat hurts from his cries and the dry drag of powdery pills irritating his esophagus. He pulls himself up from his spot on the bed, can hear low thumps of familiar boots outside of his bedroom. His upper lip curls in a snarl as he falls onto the bed, eyes squeezed shut. They hurt..

“.. Lucien?” Comes a far softer voice than the boy thought he deserved, followed by two light taps on the door.

“Fuck off!” Lucien’s voice was raw, tongue dry and nose running. He tries to focus on breathing instead of the concerned sigh from the other side of the door, hands fisting none too gently into his pillows. He’s honestly surprised they haven’t ripped.

“.. My dear, please.. Just.. Promise me you’ll come see me if you absolutely need me? Even if-”

“Go away!” Lucien snarls, grabbing the closest thing on his nightstand, a brass cone incense holder, the shape of a moon. It quickly became airborne, hitting the black painted door with a very loud thud. He thinks it might have dented the wood, but he wasn’t really looking. In fact, if he thought about it, he wouldn’t have thrown it in the first place. It was a gift from.. Ernest. On second thought, fuck that, he hopes it broke.

A yelp, followed by another drag of a sigh and Lucien can feel his father’s presence dissipate. Left to his own devices. His thoughts. The tattered ribbons of pain left behind in his knuckles that was only growing worse as he held tight to his pillow. A mantra of sobs and cracked breaths when he felt like his lungs were on fire. Crushed in the palm of someone’s hand like every other organ in his body that cried with discomfort.

He turns to face the wall, posters blurry on the black wall and he’s suddenly very aware of how loud he’s being. He needs music, needs something that his heart can pulse to the beat of. Wants something to not remind him of the anguished sounds ripping from his body and leaving his body inside out, or rather like a fresh wound.

His hand roams in his sheets until he finds a small black remote, flicks the on button, and soon enough _ Reign of Darkness _ by  _ Thy Art is Murder _ is blaring from the speakers hung on the wall adjacent from his bed. The drums both soothed him and rattled his heart in his ribcage. Almost felt like he had a bird in there, for a second. A crow, maybe even a vulture picking at the gore hidden under clammy skin.

A few songs are starting and ending and Lucien had just gotten control of his breathing when he hears the door open. It stirs an unnecessary high level of anger to pulse through his skin. He’s about to turn around, ready to make something else turn airborne when it generally shouldn’t.

“What part of ‘fuck off’ don’t you under-” Lucien pauses, red rimmed eyes dripping with dark makeup stared directly into scowling brown ones. He wasn’t sure which emotion was more prominent, but it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t care. Why should he care what Ernest is feeling if the man in question can’t reciprocate?

“You know you can really be a fucking asshole when you put your mind to it, Bloodmarch!” The only thing Lucien hears is Ernest’s voice. The music is gone, nothing but background noise. For a moment, he doesn’t have words. His hand moves on its own to pause the speakers and now, he almost prefers it to be back on.  _ Indecisive. _

Lucien sits up, slides off of the bed to his feet and he can’t decide what he wants to say first.

“You’re one to fucking talk  _ Vega;  _ you insensitive asshole! Ever heard of a god damn filter?” He spits back, and he’s vaguely aware of the jellyness of his legs. Finally, the pills are starting to work. Ernest needs to get the fuck out of his room, out of his house, off of his goddamn property.

Ernest snarls, shaking his head and pointing a threatening finger at his counterpart. “I’m insensitive? You’re the one storming off without telling anyone a goddamn thing and making me worry! You could have fucking told me you were just going to run home and cry!”

Ouch. “Fuck you!” It wasn’t what he wanted to say. Lucien wanted to tell Ernest that he’s a dickbag for thinking that this was all some insensitive show-- a pity play meant to make other people feel bad or, how Ernest said it, to  _ punish _ him. How close minded of him.

He’s wobbling a little more than he thought and his hand catches him on the nightstand. He won’t meet Ernest’s eyes. The floor is more interesting at the moment.

“The fuck is your problem? Forgot to eat again?” Lucien saw red at that statement-- what a low blow. His vision is blurring again and he’s launching something else. This time it happens to be a small candle that he bought at the dollar store with Amanda. It missed Ernest, hitting the wall loudly and falling to the carpet with a soft thud.

Ernest takes two long strides and he’s in front of the taller boy, gripping his shoulders to steady him. Lucien tries to pull away, tries to smack the hands from his frame because  _ he had no right. _ “You’re hurting me you fuckass!” Lucien finally snaps, shoving at Ernest’s chest. Either Ernest had miraculously gained muscle mass, or the Xanax was really taking its toll. He wants to believe it’s the latter.

“Look at me.” Lucien thinks Ernest sounds like Hugo when he talks like that, and when he meets his eyes they’re softer than the grip holding him steady. They’re analyzing something, and the burn of it makes Lucien feel vulnerable. Split wide open like a new butcher knife hacking into his gut and chest cavity.

“How much?” Lucien narrows his eyes, bares his teeth again.

“How much  _ what?” _ Ernest’s eyes are hardening again and his left hand grips Lucien’s jaw like a bearclaw.  _ Definitely seeing some of Hugo. _

“I might be flunking to piss Hugo off, but I’m not a fucking idiot. How many of those damn pills did you take?” Silence. “Tell me!”

“Fuck  _ off!” _ Lucien turns his head to pull out of his grip, but Ernest’s other grasp still holds him in place. He would punch the other, but he doubts it would do anything except irritate Ernest. Well.. It was better than nothing, he supposes. Seemingly reading the goth’s mind, Ernest presses him to the wall, wrists in his hands like a vice. Lucien wasn’t going anywhere, it seemed.

It was quiet between them, only Ernest staring, waiting. Lucien offered up no answers to any questions. “.. I don’t see why it should matter to you. It’s my life, my pills. It’s up to me what I do and don’t do to my body.” He intended it to be louder, he really did, but he couldn’t find the flame inside himself.

Ernest wants to slap him. Choke him against the wall, or rather shove his fingers down the other’s throat to get him to purge. Although it seemed a little too late-- who knows how long ago they were swallowed? They were already affecting Lucien pretty badly. He could barely stand on his own and his grey irises ate up most of the black of his pupils. He looked flush too. Felt clammy.

“You honestly can’t comprehend anything through that thick skull of yours, can you Lucien? Maybe those drugs fucked you over more than I thought they would. Told your sorry ass that they’d do more harm than good. Told your father, too.” Ernest paused, tongue dancing behind his teeth. He can feel Lucien’s pulse beneath the thin skin of his wrists, reminding him that Lucien wasn’t dead.  _ Yet. _

“You know how shitty it would be if you accidentally killed yourself? Think of your own fucking father for christ’s sakes, you’re the only thing he can cling on besides his own ass and his creepy obsession with the ages of the plague!”

Lucien’s wrist jerked in his hold; he was going to slap Ernest. Talk shit about him all he wants, but his father has nothing to do with it, leave him out of it. He moves his mouth to express those words but nothing but a sigh comes out.

“Fuck anyone who tries controlling me. I know what I’m doing. Don’t gotta go Doctor Phill on me. ‘Specially when your own grades are worth less than horseshit.” Lucien mutters, glowers at the other who releases Lucien. He slumps against the wall, blinking quickly and examining his wrists. Maybe there would be bruises. Maybe he’ll internally bleed out and die and no one would have to put up with him.

“You need to clean up your act and get your shit straightened out, Lucien.” Said boy laughs, shakes his head.

“Because you’re the model son, right? The blossoming boy who got his own shit straight when he got a dog and suddenly all of his problems disappeared into thin air. Some people aren’t that goddamn lucky.” Ernest crosses his arms over his chest, visibly stumped by the comment. It.. Wasn’t a total insult. He  _ had _ gotten less hostile. Formed a better bond with Hugo. Started passing tests and turning in homework. Meanwhile, Lucien was.. Well..

“Here you go again with the ‘poor pitiful me’ bullshit! Can’t you see that you  _ don’t _ know what you’re doing and that you  _ don’t  _ have control over your own body? How do you think Damien feels? Does he even know?”

“Shut your fucking mouth. Don’t you fucking dare utter another word about my dad.” Lucien spat brusquely, hands curling into fists once more. Ernest adorned a look of exasperation, taking it upon himself to grab the pill bottle abandoned on the floor, rattling them as he held them up to Lucien’s face.

“I’ll fucking do it! I’ll tell him right now what you’ve been doing for fuck knows how long, Lucien!”

“Give it back, asshole!” Ernest pulled it away when Lucien lunged for it, and instead chucked it across the room and had it hit the nearby vanity with a stunning smack. It didn’t break, he hadn’t  _ really  _ thrown it. More of an upset toss.

Lucien gazed it for a moment, before looking at Ernest with a dejected expression. Eyebrows knit together, the apples of his cheeks growing redder with the onslaught of unshed tears. Honestly, it really hurt Ernest just to see that expression, let alone with this whole ordeal unfolding before his very eyes.

“Breaking my heart wasn’t enough, so you wanna break my shit too? Whatever. You’d never understand. Never have.” The way Lucien spoke hurt more than the shallow words. It almost sounded rehearsed, like he’s had to have said it a handful of times. Ernest wouldn’t put it behind him, he knows how closed off Lucien was with his emotions.

Lucien keeps a hand on the wall as he guides himself to the door, and Ernest’s grabbing his wrist too fast. “You’re not going anywhere like this, asshole.” Ernest huffs, yanks the goth a little harder than necessary and he leans back into the wall. Sides down it much like he had a half an hour ago and Ernest is following, settling himself on his knees.

Lucien doesn’t know why Ernest is still here. Doesn’t know why the teen is hugging Lucien to his chest like a stuffed animal. Lucien rests his forehead on his shoulder. He feels the mumble of speech before he hears it, and it’s Ernest.

“You’re not gonna keep those anymore. You’ve lost my trust.” A pause, surprisingly no argument from Lucien, so he continues. “Just.. You gotta text me or tell me when you need them, okay? I ain’t leaving you alone with that bullshit.” Lucien nods a few times, hands coming up to gently bury themselves in the front of Ernest’s hideous hoodie.

Ernest’s breathing is like a musical note sheet for his lungs. A guide on how to properly inhale and exhale, and the chest pounding against his was also doing the job until they both had matching patterns in both departments. Ernest doesn’t know how long they’ve been sitting there, but when he finally tries to pull away, Lucien’s body is like a wet noodle. Ernest rolls his eyes, clicks his tongue.

“Come lay down with me but shut the fuck up.” A lazy nod from Lucien, and he’s scooped up in the other teen’s arms. Lucien laid on the edge of the bed, Ernest on the other side of him, hands dragging over his face as compensation for the string of expletives he wanted to utter into now pin-drop quiet bedroom.

He stares at the ceiling for what was either five minutes or a half an hour, and he turns his head to find that the goth had fallen asleep. The only thoughts now were what he’d have to tell Damien. Obviously he wasn’t going to tell him about the pills, that was a bluff. Ernest could take care of it, Damien didn’t need to know and worry. He’d only tell Hugo and eventually everyone would know, and Lucien didn’t need to know that. It was their dirty little secret.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> screams okay they have the strongest bromance ever

Admittedly, Damien didn’t know how to approach his son later that evening. It was dinner time and he hasn’t heard a peep from the boys upstairs since Ernest barged in and engaged into a screaming match. Taking a risk, he walks upstairs to his son’s room, ear pressed to the door cautiously. Waiting for a voice, or rather, something being thrown at the door. There was nothing, not even a low hum of music. Usually there would always be some sort of audio in the background, telling Damien that his son was home.

Taking a deep breath, he hesitantly cracked open the door, pausing before poking his head in the gap lest there be something threatening to pop out at him. His stiff posture relaxed however, when his eyes landed upon the teens laying in bed facing each other fast asleep. His heart warmed, and he reached out to flick the light switch on the wall to turn the offending fluorescence off and closed the door quietly behind him.

He makes his way down to the kitchen, runs some water into the kettle and begins to make some tea. His mind flickers to Hugo, teeth biting the inside of his bottom lip. He’d really enjoy some company right now..

Deciding that this was an emergency, Damien sent a quick text to the man,  _ “It would be of my honor to invite your being to my abode for some tea this evening. It seems that there has been some conflict between our sons, and I would like the comfort of my dear friend.”  _ Sent. Received. Read.

_ “Shit, alright.”  _ Within five minutes, Hugo was knocking on the front door, the tea having just started steeping. Damien was sure Hugo would appreciate lemon balm, he himself drank it quite frequently when he was a little stressed.

“Good evening, my friend. Come inside, make yourself comfortable. I have made tea for us,” Damien steps out of the way for Hugo, who nods in greeting and makes his way to the sofas in the living room. He’s never gotten used to the taxidermy staring him in the face. Those big beady eyes..

Hugo’s staring contest with a squirrel is broken when an elegant porcelain cup is placed in front of him on a matching saucer. Damien is seated beside him, cup and saucer resting on his knee as his full attention is pointed at Hugo. Hugo takes a deep breath, dark eyes meeting colored contacts that showed more emotion than they were probably manufactured to. Perhaps it was just the body language expressing those emotions.

“What has Ernest done this time?” He doesn’t really want to know, but judging by Damien’s nervousness, it’s pretty important.

“Well, to that I am not entirely certain, but Lucien came home early today crying. He was throwing things and- and well, he cursed at me. He threw something at the door to get me to go away,” Damien’s eyes dripped onto the floor, concern eating away at his skin like a disease. It didn’t look good on him.

“-Ernest came flying through the front door about fifteen minutes later, muttering something. It wasn’t long before there was a screaming match in Lucien’s room. Oh, Hugo,” Damien looked ready to cry. His tea set on the coffee table, hands coming up to his face, elbows on his knees. Hugo immediately wrapped an arm around him, pulling his figure to his chest. He smelled floral-- pretty.

“Damien, you know how they are. They’ll be at each other’s throats one moment and spray painting a building the next.” Hugo reassures, a broad hand rubbing soothing touches along the other’s back. Oh, Ernest, what have you done?

Damien takes a moment to go over Hugo’s words before ultimately deciding to just nod and agree with him. Yes, while that may be true, Lucien was never this violent with him. Even if nothing was outright thrown at his person, it was thrown at the door shielding Damien and that was still scary.

“I.. I sat in my room, with my hands over my ears the whole time. When I thought they were done, they would just start again, or I’d hear something hit the wall. Hugo, I was so frightened!” Damien admitted, looking up at Hugo with glassy eyes. Oh, dear.

Hugo nods slowly, stroking over Damien’s arms gently. He tries to think back to anything that could clue him into whatever started this mess, and he can’t.

“What are they doing now? Are they here?” Hugo thinks to ask, and Damien nods. Good, they didn’t need to be out and about in this condition.

“I checked on them just before I contacted you. They’re passed out in Lucien’s bed like nothing happened. I know they’re probably fine now, but I can’t help but feel like it was something serious this time, you know?” Hugo nods, pulls away from the embrace to drink his tea. It was wonderful the moment the scent of lemon invaded his senses down to when the warmth coated his throat. Damien was something else in the kitchen..

“You know,” Hugo begins, looking at the amber liquid in his cup before turning his attention back to Damien, “they kind of remind me of Romeo and Juliet, in a sense.”

It’s quiet between them, Damien running the allusion through his mind and only then is when he has the beginnings of a smile. A butterfly-inducing notion that makes the weight come off of Hugo’s chest that’s contagious enough to make him crack a lopsided grin.

“Indulge me with your evidence, Mr. Vega.” Oh, his cheeks are growing warm..

“W-Well, I suppose it can be seen first with the way Ernest’s behavior has changed. He’s maturing with the addition of Duchess Cordelia, just like how Romeo started to grow up and mature.” Damien is nodding, a quirk of a deeper smile on his cheeks. Damien was truly proud of Ernest for his turnaround of attitude.

“Lucien, on the other hand,” Hugo continues, “isn’t blossoming as quickly as Ernest. He has his demons still, I suppose. Which brings me to their friendship. Lucien and Ernest are terrible influences on each other, and you and I could be expected to not allow them to be together because of it, much like how Capulet didn’t want Juliet to be with Romeo and instead with Paris.

“Also, the example of conflict could be loosely mirrored with Lucien and Ernest themselves; everyone who knows them knows that they care about each other more than they let on. If they didn’t, why would they fight so much to make things right?” It was a rhetorical question, Hugo pausing to sip his tea again. Damien copies.

“Anyways, aside from that, they’re their own problem. Ernest and Lucien won’t make any move to talk to each other about their own feelings, whether romantic or something else entirely. They’re on a different level from each other and it would be much healthier for everyone if they finally  _ did  _ create some form of understanding with each other.”

Damien is tracing his fingertip over the rim of his cup, nodding slowly. So, in other words, they needed to get their heads out of their asses. “This will not be easy, and it will not occur overnight. The most I believe I can do is offer my love and support and keep the option of therapy available for Lucien.” He offers, smile twisting into a grimace.

“We should just give it some time then. Like you said, it won’t happen overnight.”

“Mhm.”

*

The next morning, Ernest is the first to awaken. It was still a little dark outside, but not enough to where the streetlights needed to be on. Almost immediately, his chest hammered as he shot up in bed, scrambling to the edge and knocking into Lucien.

“Shit!” A mantra of curses are spit from his mouth with little to no pause in between. Grunting from the other teen is heard, and a pillow is tossed in Ernest’s general direction.

“Hey, get your ass up, we’re late!” Ernest encouraged, grabbing his phone from his pocket to check the notifications. Six missed alarm notifications and a text from his dad saying that he’s heading to work, that he’ll see him there.

“..What? Wh- Fuck!” Lucien seemed to come to the realization as well, scrambling to throw the duvet off of his body. He was lethargic, and his bones ached. What was Ernest doing here?.. Lucien decided to relay those thoughts later. It would come to him.

He tosses his shirt off of him, pays no mind to an ever reddening Ernest watching Lucien dress himself, turns away when Lucien changes into new underwear.

“I’ll ask my dad for a ride if he hasn’t left for work yet.” He mumbles, walking into his attached bathroom to inspect his appearance; makeup was all over his face and his eyes were red and he could see fingerprint shaped bruises on his upper arms. Jesus..

Sighing, the goth grabs a makeup wipe and scrubs last night's events from his face until it was eerily nude of beauty products. He’d have to reapply it in the car, it seemed. Taking a comb, he brushed out stubborn knots and it was wavy and ugly, but he was also late and he’s already gotten an impressive amount of tardies and absences from first and second period.

Grabbing his makeup bag, he walks back out to his room, grabs his bookbag and slides into his boots. As he’s kneeling to tie them, he notices Ernest leaning against his vanity, orange bottle in his hand. His pills.

“Hey, give me those. What are you doing, going through my shit now?” Lucien huffs, standing to full height and extending his hand to take them back. Ernest gives a look of confusion before it melts into irritation.

“Dumbass, we came to the agreement that you aren’t allowed to have these anymore. You were probably too doped up to retain any of these memories, huh?” Ernest scoffs, shoving the bottle into the pocket of his jacket with his phone, nearly dead. He would have to ask a girl in his class for a portable charger..

“Why the hell would I agree to that?”

“Why the hell would you have done half the shit you did last night?” Silence. Taking that as an end to the conversation, Ernest pulls the hood up on his jacket, grabs his bag that he dumped when he stormed into the bedroom. Walking out of the hallway, he can hear Damien humming in the kitchen and a small wave of relief wash over both teens. Good, they didn’t have to walk, or pay for an Uber.

Lucien trailed behind the shorter male until they were both standing in the kitchen, Damien jumping a bit at the sight of them. He opens his mouth to ask why they haven’t left yet, and Ernest interrupts him.

“Can you drive us to school? My alarm didn’t wake us up and Lucien didn’t set his.” He asks, eyes scanning over the purple shirt the goth man wore, and admired Damien’s features normally hidden by hair or makeup like his jawline. Lucien definitely took after him.

Damien looks between the two and the hesitant look on his face isn’t because of not being sure if he should drive the pair. More of how the mood is going to be once all three of them get in an enclosed space for 20 minutes if traffic graces them with some semblance of luck.

“Of course, I don’t mind. Ready?” Damien asks, and he notices Lucien’s appearance. He never leaves the house without makeup, but.. He probably brought some with him.

Damien’s suspicions were correct because no sooner than he got in the driver’s side, Ernest in the back, Lucien was digging in his bag to put on foundation. His son deserved an award for how precise he was at it, especially how he managed to not poke himself in the eyes with the eyeliner and mascara. Damien remembers trying to do his makeup in the car some time ago, and he ended up having to pull over with watery eyes and smudged eyeshadow. Never again.

It was quiet except the radio which was turned down, and the soft ventilation of the air conditioner. It was far too hot outside to leave the windows open anyways. Ernest seemed to not be in the mood to chat, instead resting his head back against the seat with his eyes closed. Lucien was just finishing his makeup, putting it back in his bag. Awkwardness hung in the air and Damien was almost sure he was the only one who felt it but then again, he could be wrong.

Damien’s eyes slid from the road, to his son, to Ernest all throughout the car ride. He couldn’t figure out anything to say without starting a battle that he didn’t want to suffer through. He didn’t want to upset Lucien while he was putting on fresh makeup, else he’d never go to class. He sighs, slides his hands down lower on the steering wheel as he pulls into the front of the school.

“Lucien, before you run off I want to tell you something.” The teen in question seemed a bit hesitant, the hand on the car door pausing and his head turned to face Damien. “I know you’re never going to tell me every single thing, but I want you to know that you can, no matter what. Even if it isn’t me, say it’s your therapist, that’s completely okay.” Lucien glanced away, nodding shortly.

“I love you, Lucien. Text me when you get home, okay?”

“Love you too.” And with that, him and Ernest were exiting the car.

Failure crept up Damien’s spine as he drove away, and it was a disgusting sticky feeling that almost distracted him enough to run a red light, which he didn’t. He told Lucien he loved him, he told him that he would be there to talk and offered other solutions for him to vent, so what else could he have done? Should he have never let Ernest into the house last night? A negative feeling followed up on the last thought, and he quickly rid himself of it. No, they seemed better today, so really, it wasn’t a mistake so it seemed.

Hopefully Hugo will keep an eye on them today, like he promised last night. Damien couldn’t help but feel a little.. Useless. He didn’t know what else to do except watch things unfold and based on the events last night, Damien doesn’t exactly feel comfortable with the idea of sitting back and watching. What else was there? Nothing. Perhaps Mary could have a useful opinion, maybe Joseph. Lucien couldn’t be bothered in the slightest to attend any activity of the youth group, but that doesn’t mean Damien couldn’t.

*

The minutes passing by are more like seconds. Lucien sits at his desk with his temple resting to his knuckles, eyes downcast on his spiral notebook. The pen in his hand didn’t feel right, like it didn’t belong. The atmosphere felt like saran wrap around his body. Sinking feeling in the bottom of his stomach layered with nausea that held the threat of retching in the front of his mind every other moment. Mumbling in the room is only vibrating the outer ring of pain in his brain, and it seemed to throb in time with his heartbeat. He hadn’t felt this disgusting this morning, but the more he sat in the classroom doing virtually nothing, more onslaught his drug-hangover was serving.

The sounds of the expo marker dragging and dotting on the whiteboard was proving to be the most annoying thing going on. There was a list of annoying things, like Jenny Gardner tapping her eraser on her desk, Ethen Jacobs mumbling to Blake Neely next to him, and even the lighting was a racing close second to the most annoying thing. However, it was the marker that took the cake. Lucien needed to get out of there. Running his hands over his face, the goth suppressed a groan and looked at the clock on the wall. Thank christ time was on his side today, the class over soon.

Every other class went exactly like this one previously, and finally he was at lunch. Finally, he could maybe leave the campus for a little while, smoke and have the privacy to think. A text startled Lucien.

_ [“Meet me outside by the benches, wanna talk to u” _

_ “We’re talking now.” _

_ “jackass u know what i mean” _

_ “If you insist.” _

_ “ill drag ur bitchass by ur hair bloodmarch”] _

Lucien wouldn’t dare let it be known that it was already his plan from the beginning, but the stream of texts did make him smile a little. Ernest did have his own way of caring, even if he was a bit.. Dense sometimes.

The first drag of his cigarette was well deserved, soothing enough to make his eyelids droop shut, soft lips parted and grey smoke eased past them as well as out his nose. He was sitting on the back part of a bench, bag by his side and one knee drawn to his chest, smoking hand sitting on it. The other hung off and toed at the perforated iron seat of the bench. The red paint was horridly chipped, carved, and doodled on. A few dicks, a few letters, some squiggles. Lucien sticks his cigarette in his mouth as he rummages through his bag to retrieve a sharpie, and decided to doodle a bat on an area with no holes. It was looking pretty good and he was nearly finished when someone draped their arms over his shoulders.

The scent of nicotine and faint cologne invaded his senses, and from that he knew who was behind him if it weren’t for the brazen act of touching him, or the fact that the assailant was wearing that disgusting orange hoodie. Lucien pulls the cigarette out of his mouth and leans against the chest behind him, head tipped back onto a firm shoulder.

“Cute doodle. Is that your dad?” Ernest teases, cocking his head to the side to get a better glance at Lucien. The goth quirks the edges of his mouth up in what could either be a grimace or a smirk, they looked nearly identical. They met eyes, and they held it even as Lucien puffed out some smoke to the small space between their faces.

“Thought you were into literature, not comedy.” Ernest feels a little warm from the soft comeback, rolling his eyes as he stole what was left of the cigarette, putting it between his lips.

Ernest hated the brand of Lucien’s cigarettes. Yellow Spirits tasted like garbage compared to Marlboro, but, it wasn't unbearable. The rest of the time from then until the cigarette was gone and stubbed out was quiet. Ernest slowly shifted, dropping his arms from Lucien’s shoulders, sat on the back of the bench just like the other and faced him. Leg crossed under him, the other one dangling.

“You should apologize to Damien later.”

Lucien was already going for another cigarette, chewed up lighter sending the end of it into a small flame and singing the paper. Lucien inhaled, exhaled and spoke with words following the smoke. “You’re the poster child now, right? Figures you’d start up with the holier than thou attitude. Tell me something different once in awhile.” His voice is but a murmur but he keeps his gaze distant in front of him, jaw tensing and unclenching periodically. He obviously had more to say, but he wouldn’t.

“Listen, you and I both know that that’s not what I’m putting down. Your dad is more sensitive than mine, he’s a good guy.” Ernest offers, resting his elbows on his leg, trying to get a better view of Lucien’s face, but the other wouldn’t entertain it. Not giving any sort of attention.

“Don’t.”

“Lucien, you’re being difficult. At this point I don’t know what to do. I don’t wanna see you swallow pills like they’re candy, but I don’t want to have to call you out on your bullshit or tell your dad. Either way, you’re lashing out and you’ll end up hurtin’ someone else including yourself.” Ernest wants to just blurt out everything to Damien but he knew that Lucien wouldn’t look at him for a good while, if ever. But.. If he let him go down this path then..

He didn’t wanna think about that route. He wanted to make Lucien better, and if he was a little selfish along the way, then so be it. He won’t tell anyone for the time being, but he’s going to have to be a firm figure in Lucien’s life right now. How could  he do that if he doesn’t know what sets the boy off in the first place?

Lucien finally looks over at him, but his eyes are glossy. His makeup is going to start running again..

“What does it matter, anyway? I have nothing going for me. No one wants to hire me, my classes are shit, I don’t even know what college I’m going to-- Jesus Christ, I don’t even like sex, so my chances of being with someone are already out the god damn window!” Where was this all coming from?.. Perhaps these were the catalysts of his frequent breakdowns. Usually when Ernest says some stupid shit, he just gets punched in the arm and cursed at but lately, Lucien has been running away from it all or ignoring him. Ernest didn’t like being ignored, so naturally when he got upset about it, it only made things worse.

Ernest leaned closer, reaching out to grip Lucien’s jaw with one hand, staring hard into his face. He didn’t say anything for a moment, processing his words. Now wasn’t the time to screw up when Lucien laid out all his woes on the table to be judged and examined by the other.

“You know how selfish you are? You don’t even bother asking for help, Lucien. You never say a goddamn thing until it’s too late and even then, you end up blaming everyone else. You take too many pills and that’s a cry for help yeah, but not.. Shit, it isn’t right. You’re worrying me too much. Worrying your dad, worrying my dad.

“Shit’s not always gonna go right obviously, and everything you said about just now has a solution somewhere. You know you don’t have to do everything yourself, right?” Lucien casts his eyes downward at the last part, hand coming up to take the other on his cheek, gently squeezing and resting them on his lap.

“.. I know, Ernest. It’s.. Not- I mean, ever since Damien left his ex, I just took the role of doing shit for myself by myself. I don’t know, maybe I’m still subconsciously fucked from that whole situation, but..” But, he doesn’t want to look needy, doesn’t want to give people another reason to pick on him, call him names, push him into a locker when adults weren’t looking.

Ernest looks down at their hands, gently traces the tip of his thumb along the paper white knuckles intertwined with his own. He can relate to Lucien’s independence, that’s kinda what kept them together as friends. Lucien was just so.. Cool. Cool, and mysterious, and  _ really  _ smart. Also pretty good looking too but- that wasn’t important right now.

“I uh, don’t know much about sexuality and all that, but I know some people still date asexuals, you know? I think.. Everyone has another half. Even if they aren’t intimate, if they’re not actual lovers. A really good friend could be someone’s soulmate.” In Ernest’s mind, he was rambling, not making a lick of sense or saying anything helpful but it was quite the contrary.

“I think that’s really sweet. I guess having a best friend for a while isn’t the worst thing..” Lucien agreed, using the sharpie from earlier to start doodling on the hand he was holding. Cigarette flung to the ground. Ernest continued speaking as Lucien drew what could either be a penis or something else altogether, but he knew the other was listening.

“And all that other shit, that doesn’t matter right now anyway. You’re still in high school and you’re damn smart. Who cares what that report card says anyway? In my opinion, school education is a shit way to declare someone as smart or not.” At that Lucien snorted, an actual smile gracing his lips. Ernest mirrored it.

“Who even cares if you end up going to college a little later, anyway? Take some time and find one, doesn’t matter how long it takes. Do what you think is right. Hell, that’s what Hugo started telling me just to try and get me to promise him that I’d even go.” They both laughed at that, Ernest’s lip catching between his canines.

“I guess you’re right.. I think you’re better than my own therapist. When you aren’t moody I mean.” Ernest glowered at him, but his smile didn’t fade. His free hand gently brushed a few stray hairs out of Lucien’s eyes as he drew, and they momentarily flicked up to meet the other’s gaze. The edges crinkled a little to accentuate the small smile he wore, and it was a relief from the constant mask of sadness painted on his face.

“Yeah, so where’s my $100 an hour, bitch?” Ernest nudged the goth with his knee, and they both started giggling.

“Well, maybe I’ll start selling oregano again, to pay you for your troubles.”

“Serves you right.”

They were quiet for a little longer until the doodle was done and there was a sketchy drawing of a flower sprouting across his skin. His hand was warm.

“What’s this? The meaning I mean. Don’t be cheeky and have some bullshit on my skin.” Lucien shook his head, capping the marker and tossing it in his bag.

“It’s Amaryllis. Means ‘worth beyond beauty’.” Wait what? Oh, how that ignited Ernest's cheeks with heat and color. He shoved his sleeve down past his thumbs, turning his head away with a slight grimace.

“Asshole. Want me to get punched in the face?” He loves the drawing, he really does. Loves that it has such a gorgeous meaning, loves when Lucien remembers tiny things that make him sound like a genius. He is, in his own way.

“Dick.”

“Emo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I SMELL A CHAPTER THREE IN THE FUTURE  
> also follow me @m0thmvn on tumblr

**Author's Note:**

> shoot me a request on tumblr @ m0thmvn


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